Sunday, February 10, 2013

Day 10: My inauguration speech

There are still holes in our bodies
Caverns created by your discoveries
Wounds never cared for enough to scar
From your bombs
This is not a time for speech writing
Not a time for clever metaphor
And inspiration
This is a time to picture the bodies you unfurled into the abyss
The ones who skin was already blacked before you charred them

I don’t want to hear a gay Mexican on stage
Talk about the light we can all see in mornings mirrors
Don’t want to talk about the way morning breaks over horizon the a promise for progress
Or any of that shit
Mr. president
This is not a moment to revel in our excellence
In a minute to remember or
Disgustingly human
An hour to shatter the glass ceiling of appearances

Black man
Born of woman
Born of salt
And sand
Born of imperialism
Born of bombs
And chains
And ropes
And scars
Born of roots

How could you forget?
The holes your country dug into my body
How could you disregard
The sands that spit you out whole to this world
How could you achieve so much
And remember so little

I know our black is not the same
But our scars
Are so similar
Have just allowed them to paint over your skin
Make you presentable
Make you represent
Something you were never an image of

And yet,
I still feel hopeful
Every time
Its your face
Delivering the state of the union
And yet
I still wait
For you to say something
That really matters

We are all waiting to be recognized
Having casted our ballot for the only body that resembled our struggle
But every time you speak
It becomes so clear to me
That you have no intention
To recognize the way
Your office
Has beaten us
Has broken us
Has made us victim
Has buried us all

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